


Much Worse Games To Play

by suburbanvvar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanvvar/pseuds/suburbanvvar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was vaguely aware that he was screaming, but his body was not his own, and his mind was far from clear. Everyone around him was silent, no longer trying to keep him quiet, but definitely not a soul volunteering to take the place of his sister.<br/>_____<br/>John Watson makes the rash (and probably very stupid) decision to volunteer in place of young Archie in the 74th Hunger Games. Now with the duty of protecting his sister, he can't help but entertain the very real possibility that one (or both) of them will not make it home. Throw in a boy remarkably similar to a whirlwind, the quiet but strange Sherlock Holmes, and soon things become far more complicated as John asks himself who he's really trying to protect; his sister, himself, or a boy he barely knows?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

  The thing about living in District 12 was how eventually, it seemed that everything turned to ash. The sky was rarely anything other than grey, which did not bode well for the moods of the citizens. Smog filled the air, turning each inhale into a struggle, making mouths into chimneys and lungs into fireplaces, burning your core and tearing your throat to shreds with the coughs that wracked through your body. The people, too, were grey. Regardless of the olive tones many had, the pallor of the people was sickly from being down in the mines, and the emotional states were much the same.

  So you can see why John Watson was having absolutely none of it.

  "Harry, come on now. Get up, you lazy-oof!"

  John stumbled back, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach where his sister had just socked him. Harry simply flipped herself over in bed and grumbled into the mattress. This was obviously the thanks John got for being considerate enough to wake his sister up for hunting when it would be far easier to go on his own.

  "John, Reaping's today. It's too risky. Peacekeepers everywhere." Harry groaned.

  "That's half the fun, sure," He countered, tying up his boots. "Come on, now. Don't make me go alone."

  "Mm. Not happening. But if you're insistent on risking your own arse, at least aim for something big today, alright?"

  "Oh, rabbits aren't good enough for her Highness anymore, are they?"

  "We'll be in need of a feast tonight, Johnny. We'll want to celebrate another Games without the Watsons."

  "Knock on wood," John murmured. Softly, he added, "At least try to get Mum out of bed before noon, yeah? And don't run off anywhere before I get back. We're going down together this year, putting on the show of a proper family. Don't want you running off with one of your girlfriends before the Reaping and losing track of time."

  "Can you _imagine?_ " Harry laughed. "Surely that would be enough of a reason for them to shoot me on the spot. Forget skipping the Reaping, but with my panties down round my ankles too--"

  _"Harry!"_ John hissed, shutting his eyes tight. It wasn't just the mental image that disturbed him (even though it did, quite a lot). He didn't even want to entertain the idea of his sister being caught by the Peacekeepers skipping out on the Reaping. His sister was right. With everything that had been happening lately, that would surely be reason enough for some self-righteous official to--

  He felt a reassuring hand on his arm.

  "Johnny, I'm just kidding." She assured him, quietly.

  "Yeah," He smiled tightly. "Yeah I know. Sorry, I'm just a bit stressed out I suppose."

  The siblings sat in careful silence for a few moments, John taking the time to slip his jacket on. Harry picked at the mattress before looking up at her older brother.

  "I'll be right here when you get home, alright? You try not to get caught outside the fence either."

  John smirked at her, before changing the tone of his voice into one ridiculously similar to Harry's."Can you imagine? Caught out in the woods, panties round my ankles-"

  He couldn't finish his sentence due to the pillow that was tossed at his face, but he left their small home with a smile on his face, and more optimism in his heart than he probably should have on that day in particular.

 ********

  To say John Watson was absolutely fucking terrified was an understatement. It was the day the Tributes would be selected for the 74th annual Hunger Games, and John knew that even though the odds were relevantly in his favour, there was always the chance that he, Harriet, or both may be selected. On top of that, the thought of how his mother would fair should either of her children be Reaped was horrifying. Less than a year after the loss of her husband and John's father, losing a child would definitely make her bed even more appealing than it currently was. John had rarely seen her up and about since the mining incident several months prior, and even though he and Harry were barely handling the grief themselves, they had both been required to put on brave faces in order to keep the household functioning.

  He was stressed half to death over the thought of Harry's name being chosen, even more than he worried about his own. He had already been sick three times that morning already, but he hoped desperately that he could take his mind off of things by hunting for a few hours.

  Sholto was already at the fence when John arrived. He and James Sholto had been friends since childhood, and had discovered the fault in the chain-link that kept both their families from starvation. With the two of them hunting (plus the occasional addition of Harry), they were far better off than most in District 12. Sholto's face slipped into a grin at the sight of John.

  "Wasn't sure if you'd show up today."

  "And leave you to get arrested all by yourself? Not a chance."

  The two boys climbed carefully under the fence and started the trek out into deeper woods. John prided himself on being a clean shot with a bow and arrow, whereas Sholto was specialized at setting up traps and snares.

  To say that John was attracted to his friend was possibly the understatement of the century. Ever since Sholto had begun dating girls in their community, John had felt the underlying currents of jealousy sparking up, which only grew stronger and stronger as both boys matured. He never full-on confronted these feelings with himself, not really, even though enough people had hinted that there may be something going on between them. The two were friends, and as far as John could see, it would remain that way. The only thing that had ever given John even a shred of hope that his feelings were reciprocated was an event that had taken place almost a year prior.

  James' cousin had been chosen as the female Tribute for District 12 for the 73rd Hunger Games, and of course, during the broadcast of the second night, Sholto had had to watch the young girl slaughtered by an 18 year old from District 4. John wasn't exactly good with discussing matters of the heart, regardless of how close they were, so his obvious solution was to suggest they get absolutely smashed. One thing had led to another, and on their long walk home, somewhere along the way Sholto had pulled John into a clumsy, drunken kiss.

  Neither spoke of it again, and John was of the mindset that perhaps his friend had simply been overwhelmed with all of the intense emotions the day had brought, but still, something niggled at the back of John's mind since that day.

  Presently, John himself was 17, and his friend was two years his senior, meaning that for the first time since they had become companions, John was the only one who had a chance at being picked at the Reaping. This fact lay heavy yet unspoken between the two, at least until they had caught three rabbits and a couple of pheasants.

  They sat atop a grassy hill and watched the sun climb higher in the sky, the approach of the ceremony drawing closer and closer with each passing breath.

  Sholto turned to look at John. "How do you feel?"

  _Don't stare, John. Don't stare, don't stare, don't stare--_

  John laughed. "Not exactly a question you should ask somebody like me."

  "Somebody who's life is on the line?"

  The younger boy blew out a gust of laughter. "I meant more so someone who generally hates talking about feelings, but might as well get right to the point."

  He continued to pull strands of grass out of the earth, ripping them up, and flicking them back to the ground again.

  "John, the odds of getting picked are slim to none. You'll be fine, okay?"

  "Easy for you to say." John grumbled, realizing too late how bitter the words sounded even to his own ear. "Sorry--"

  "It's alright," James waved him off. "You have every right to be scared shitless right now. Christ, I'm scared shitless and my name's not even in there."

  "Why are you scared then?" John asked, brow furrowing.

  "Because--well, you could still get picked, couldn't you? And I can't imagine-- I don't even want to _think--_ "

  John looked over quickly as Sholto cleared his throat hurriedly. He rubbed a hand through his blond hair and stared down at the small valley below.

  "John, you know how much you mean to me, right?"

  Obviously they were friends, and it would make sense that he was worried for John, but even then, Sholto seemed far more concerned about John than he ever was for the other boys they went round with. In their daily life, it was always James that looked out for John and his family, bringing leftovers for he and Harry, helping them through the loss of their father and their mother's depression. Was this simple camaraderie? Or something deeper? John felt his heart leap into his throat and his face flush, wondering if his friend meant for those words to come out the way they did.

  "I don't know. Do I?" He asked, softy.

  The air between them shifted, and both of them seemed to know what was coming.

  James smiled awkwardly. "Is now the worst time possible to say that I'm mad about you?"

  John felt his face heat up even more, as a grin broke across his face. "Ah, I can think of worse times."

  Sholto stared down at his hands. "And... how do you feel? About me?"

  John didn't reply at first, trying to pull together scattered thoughts into a coherent message.

  "I think," John said slowly. "I might be quite a bit mad about you too."

  Before he could even process what was happening, Sholto--James-- leaned over across the short distance between them and pulled John into a kiss. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to put his hands? John could think of nothing else, could make his body do nothing else, than sink into the kiss, follow blindly as it was deepened, meanwhile his thoughts were racing a mile a minute, heart soaring at the realization that he apparently wasn't alone in his feelings. But wandering hands made his eyes snap open, and he pulled back quickly before they rushed headfirst into things too quickly.

  "James," He whispered against his friend's lips. It was at this point John realized he had no idea what to say. _How long have you felt this way? How exactly do you feel? Are you in love with me? Or just terrified of losing me?_

  "We have time." He finally settled on.

  "Do we?" Sholto said, eyes betraying just how nervous he was for what was to come.

  "Well, I sure hope so. Let's at least wait until after the Reaping, yeah? I'm sure I'll be in much more of a celebratory mood once I know myself and Harry are safe."

  "Right," James smiled, a slow blush creeping upon his face now that he was finally processing what had happened. "I look forward to it."

  John pressed another quick kiss to Sholto's lips before climbing to his feet.

  "Speaking of, we should probably head back."

  John felt like he was walking on air as Sholto grinned at him. He couldn't remember feeling so elated in what seemed like years. They gathered their game and slowly made their way back towards the fence, fingers linked together loosely, and of course neither of them mentioning this fact at all.

********

  When John returned home, he found the occupants to be in absolute disaster-mode. His sister was running about with one shoe on, desperately twisting her hair about into a braid, and their mother was throwing up into the toilet bowl. John immediately rushed over to her, rubbing her back and yelling for Harry to find their mum something to wear.

  "I've already laid out her dress, but she won't put it on."

  "Well, I have to start getting ready too, Harry, can you try and get her dressed?"

  " _Well,_ if you hadn't spent half the day meandering with Sholto maybe you'd have more time!"

  "Harry, just calm down and help me, would you? I'm not blaming you, I'm just asking for a hand."

  His sister mumbled a few choice words under her breath before helping Mrs Watson up, ignoring the weak protests.

  "Come on, Mum, you have to get ready. We're not allowed to miss this, remember? It'll be okay."

_Yeah right,_ he thought to himself.  _Regardless of who gets chosen, our lot never make it home._

  John quickly pulled on his best shirt and trousers, washing his face and combing his hair neatly. No matter, as Harry mussed it up as soon as he walked out into the main room. Once the small family was ready, the siblings tried as quickly as possible to bring their mother along to the Justice Building, outside of which all of the other families were quietly gathered, all sporting solemn faces, all absolutely terrified for what was to come. John looked around nervously, wondering if any of his mother's old friends would be able to watch her during the Reaping. As if she had read his mind, Sholto's mother was soon by their side, gently taking his own mother by the arm.

  "Alright now, Beth, why don't you join myself and James over here? Let John and Harriet sign in."

  With minor struggling, she managed to guide John's mother away, leaving him with a feeling of immense guilt at her distress, but also the startling realization that it was almost time. It was actually happening. Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing, as she took his hand briefly and squeezed it tightly, a silent promise that everything would be okay.

********

  Mycroft Holmes had absolutely terrified John when he attended his first Reaping. The Capitol official was always sent to District 12 to select their Tributes, and the man was rather-fairly nicknamed the Ice Man. He held no warmth in his gaze, no personality at all really, if John was being quite honest. John himself was far more fond of Effy Trinket, from what he saw on the television anyways. Harry, on the other hand, thought she was fake as any of the other--

  _"Capitol Freaks, John. At least Holmes seems to share the same enthusiasm for the Games as the rest of us."_

  Perhaps this was true, John thought, but then, if even officials saw how terrible the Hunger Games were, why were they even allowed to continue? To be fair, Mycroft was possibly the most normal-looking Capitol official out there. He wore earth-tone suits, still had his natural hair colour, and the only tattoos he sported were simple gold details around the edge of his face. From a distance, it could be easily assumed he was from one of the Districts.

  "Quiet down now, please. Quiet down." Holmes spoke clearly into the microphone, although John wasn't quite sure what noise he was referring to, as everyone in the crowd was hardly breathing. The man cleared his throat and paused, staring them all down in a way that was almost comforting in it's familiarity. _He does this every year,_ John thought, _and I've never been chosen before._

  John carefully eyed the large glass bowls next to Holmes. Multiple slips of white paper were held within, and John uneasily remembered just how many had his own name written carefully upon them.

  "Let's get right to it then, shall we?"

  The same old video was played, probably hoping to stir up some patriotism in the citizens, but John simply felt the normal disgust associated with Panem. John Watson held hope that somewhere, people were better off than they were here. He absolutely hated Panem, a fact that he had only mentioned aloud once before, that is until his father absolutely _lost it._

_"You cannot say those things, John! Less than that has landed men in Capitol prisons before, or worse. We all suffer, we all feel resentment, but these are the types of things we don't vocalize, understand me?"_

_"Why not? Why hide how we feel? If we don't speak up, nothing will change!"_

_"Wait until you have children, John. Then you'll understand why the choice between survival and change is a simple one for us."_

_"I'm never having kids. I would never be so selfish as to bring kids into this fucking_ shit _world!"_

  John shook his head, clearing those thoughts. Mycroft was addressing them once more.

  "--Those of you who are new at this, I'll keep it simple. I will be choosing a name out of each bowl here, one boy's and one girl's between the ages of 12 and 18. Should anybody who is eligible feel so inclined, they may of course volunteer to take the place of a chosen Tribute. Whoever is selected will be taken directly to the Capitol in preparation of the 74th Hunger Games."

  Nobody made a sound. Mycroft cleared his throat.

  "Right. Well, I won't leave you in anticipation. Ladies first, I suppose."

  John held his breath. He caught Harry's eye from across the crowd, separated by sex as they were. There was currently a mantra in his mind that threatened to send him toppling over with stress. _Anyone but Harry Watson. Anyone but Harry Watson. Anyone, anyone but--_

  "Harriet Watson." Mycroft said crisply.

  John nearly fell over. Probably would have, too, had a few of the boys standing around him not promptly caught his arms to keep him upright. He became aware of his own voice reaching his ears, possibly too loud than it should be.

  "No, no," He said, ignoring those around him hushing his borderline hysteria. "Somebody volunteer. Somebody-- _SOMEBODY VOLUNTEER!_ "

  He was vaguely aware that he was screaming, but his body was not his own, and his mind was far from clear. Everyone around him was silent, no longer trying to keep him quiet, but definitely not a soul volunteering to take the place of his sister--his _baby sister!_

  Suddenly, strong arms were wrapped around him, and he almost foolishly tried to fight them before Sholto's firm but gentle voice was in his ear. The man had obviously pushed his way in to the roped off section in order to shut him up.

  "You can't stop them, John. You need to be quiet. Be quiet before your mother loses both of you."

  "Shit," John sobbed. _"Shit."_  

  Once he had his breathing under control, he realized Mycroft Holmes (along with just about everyone else in District 12) was watching him. Harry was on the stage next to the man, eyes shut tight, hands behind her back. John recognized this stance instantly. She always did that when she didn't want anyone to see her hands shaking.

  A few Peacekeepers were trying to remove Sholto, but Holmes simply cleared his throat, and with a shake of his head both boys were left in peace.

  "Yes, well. Let's continue, shall we?" Mycroft met his eyes once more, and John froze up, before recognizing sympathy in the Ice Man's gaze.

  "Now for the boys."

  John figured the day couldn't get much worse from there, and didn't even take the time to hope his name wasn't called. Regardless, he was not chosen.

  "Archibald Mellark."

  John sucked in a breath. This Reaping so far was worse than he could ever have expected. Little Archie, his very first year up for the Reaping, chosen at barely 12 years of age.

  The boy's mother was in hysterics, and John caught a glimpse at what he himself must have resembled.

  _"NO- NO NOT MY BABY! PLEASE NOT MY LITTLE ONE! NO--"_

  In the long list of possibly-not-well-thought-through-plans John had made in his life, this would have to take the cake. Before Archie could step forward, before Sholto could haul him back, John raised his voice strong and clear.

 

  "I volunteer as Tribute."


	2. Songbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was the difference between he and his mother. He could still get up. But between he and Harry, it was John who had to be quiet for both of them.

 John may have expected a hundred voices to rise up in protest, a couple of muffled screams from the girls he used to date, perhaps even an old friend volunteering in  _John's_ place. But there was nothing, really. A few gasps, and some muffled words as the crowd realized that the Watson siblings would be in the Games together. He heard Archie's mother in a more peaceful branch of hysteria, still sobbing, but more due to the aftershock than the initial fear that had engulfed her moments before.

 "Thank you," She was addressing John, hushed despite the distance between them.  _"Thank you."_

John himself was actually still trying to figure out what the actual fuck he had just done. Well, it made sense he supposed. Archie was far too young, and wouldn't last a second in the Arena. But the more he thought about it, the sooner he realized that this outcome must have already been niggling in his head before Archie's name was drawn. He couldn't let his sister go off on her own. Not like this.

 "John," He heard behind him. Sholto was looking at him, and John's blood ran cold. The other boy looked absolutely devastated. But the Peacekeepers were already guiding John towards the stage, and there was really nothing more to be said. 

 Harry, for her part, wouldn't look at him. He saw her legs wobbling slightly, and wondered, not for the last time, if this hadn't been the worse idea he'd ever had. Mycroft, on the other hand, was staring at him intently. John felt like he was being analysed, like a bug under glass, and simply grit his teeth together, staring out over the sea of heads in the crowd.

 The words Holmes did eventually say buzzed out like white noise, and John tried not to throw up. "May I present the Tributes from District 12, John and Harriet Watson."

*******

 As soon as they were inside the Justice Building, Harry absolutely  _jumped_ onto her brother, pushing and hitting him, all the while hot tears streaked down her face. The older Watson sibling simply held her arms fast, pulling her to his chest and holding her close and she stubbornly tried, and failed, not to cry. Harry, John reminded himself, would rather act on anger than face her true emotions. The real devastation was what scared her most.

 Even after their father died, Harry's grief had led her to start fights with boys twice her size, start one-person screaming matches with John, and run out into cold nights far more often than not. John, like his mother, was more inclined to just stay in bed and pretend it was all a dream, but when the hunger pains had become too much, he had put his foot down. That was the difference between he and his mother. He could still get up. But between he and Harry, it was John who had to be quiet for both of them.

 Just like at that moment, where his little sister (albeit only by a year) was still mumbling curses and threats under her breath, it was he who stood patient and waiting. Always waiting.

 "You're a fucking idiot." She finally grumbled, wiping her snot-dripping nose on the back of her arm. John simply shrugged.

 "I couldn't just let you go in there on your own."

 "So what now?" Harry demanded. "Only one of us comes out, or neither of us John. Nobody wins this way. Neither of us can ever win this way. Not really."

 "I--" The older Watson ran a hand through his hair. "Shit."

 "No kidding."

 At that moment, Mycroft entered the building as well, striding up to them with a peculiar expression.

 "Curious," He said. "Why a family of three with a severely depressed mother would willingly put forward two children instead of one."

 Both Harry and John stared at him, mouth slightly open.

 "Never mind that, of course." Holmes waved his hand. "Good luck to you both, and all."

 John watched the man walk off, and opened his mouth to make a comment to Harry, to try and fix the rift he had undoubtedly caused between them, but she was already stalking off herself, most likely to the visitation room.  _Oh,_ John thought, suddenly processing Holmes' words.  _Mum. Shit._

*******

 The siblings had different rooms, which John thought was strange, but as soon as Sholto entered through the thick doors, he was overwhelmingly glad.

 The air shifted as soon as John stood up to greet him. Sholto paused, before taking three long strides and wrapping John in a strong embrace.

 "You're an idiot. You know that, right?"

 "I've been told." John mumbled.

 The boys separated, barely, and Sholto took a deep breath. "I won't ask why you did it, because even though this can't possibly end well, I understand John. Okay? I get it. But as soon as you get into that arena, you have to have your priorities settled."

 John tilted his head, worry fluttering in his stomach. "Priorities--?"

 "You can't both leave the arena. You know that. The odds that one of you will even make it out alive is--" He cut himself off, clearing his throat as John crossed his arms. "The point is, can you just tell me now what your plan is? Is it keeping Harry alive as long as possible? Keeping yourselves out of harm's way until it's just down to the two of you? Please, John, just tell me now so I can make my peace with it before I have to see you get your--"

 John chose that moment to pull Sholto down to his height and kiss him deeply. The sound of sobbing leaked into the room from the other side of the far wall. The boys rested their foreheads together.

 "I would tell you," John said. "But I haven't exactly figured out a game plan. All I know is that one way or another, Harry is coming back. I didn't do this to-to double the chances of a Watson's victory, James. I did this to ensure my sister would come home to our mother. That's all I can--" John cut off, throat tightening as emotion finally overwhelmed him.

 His friend said nothing, simply offering his chest as support for John's head as the shorter boy tried to compose his flurried brain.

 "I can't promise that I'll ever see you again, James."

 "I know," Shotlo whispered, voice thick. "I can't promise that I won't still hope, though."

 Their goodbye was awkward, in the sense that neither of them was sure if they should treat it _as_ a goodbye. 

 John made himself say one last thing before Sholto took his leave. "You-uh. You don't have too... that is, like,  _wait_ for me, James. You can forget about-about the woods and just--"

 "I won't," Sholto said, one hand on the door and his head down-turned, not looking at John. "I won't forget about it. I don't think I can. But regardless of how this plays out, John I'm rooting for you, the whole way through. I'm rooting for  _you._ "

 Before John could even consider an appropriate response, his friend was gone, and John was alone once more.

 Not for long, however.

 As he expected the next goodbye to be from his mother, he was surprised to see a small head of curly hair poke around the door. Archie came in, all five-foot-nothing, and his mother entered behind him, both with damp eyes and watery smiles. John immediately grinned, stooping down to pick up Archie the way he always had when he looked after the younger boy.

 "John, I can't thank you enough," Archie's mother began, voice wavering. "I never would have asked this of you. But you can't imagine how grateful I am for this. You saved my little boy." The woman brought a hand up to cover her mouth and turned slightly to face the window, and any doubt John may have had about his actions dissipated instantly, This, this was what made it all worth it.

 "Believe me, I never would have forgiven myself if I'd let him go into that Arena." John said.

 "What about you?" Archie said, small for his age but old enough to appreciate the sacrifice John had made for him.

 "Oh, don't you worry about me," John smirked. "Harry and I will be watching each other's backs. You oughta be more concerned for the other guys. Last time anybody will underestimate District 12."

 He met the older woman's eyes, and he hoped his own face wasn't betraying his true thoughts the way her's was. He couldn't let Archie feel any guilt. He couldn't let him know that John had just signed his own death certificate.

 "In any case, I don't know if you've already been given a token, John, but--" She produced a small pin from within her pocket, extending her hand to place in gently in John's open palm. "It's a magpie."

 He looked at it closely, the tiny gold-coloured body mid-flight. 

 "My mother," She said, voice hushed. "Said they were unpredictable. Unpredictable, but lucky birds nonetheless. Hopefully that does you some good."

 He felt his eyes grow damp, remembering warm summer afternoons in the forest with his father, the gentle voices of these birds floating overhead. He remembered his mother laughing and shoving his father playfully when he attempted to serenade her, John and Harry smirking at one another in the kitchen as their parents acted like they were 16 and falling in love all over again.  _"Come on now, Beth. I've got the pipes of a songbird."_

 "Thank you." John murmured. He fixed it to his shirt, and tried to push down the lump growing in his throat.

 That seemed to be the end of conversation that the three were capable of, and the two left John an emotional mess.

 All that was left was saying goodbye to Mum.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually throws in the magpie because those metas floating around about the wedding wallpaper influenced me heavily.*

**Author's Note:**

> I know I haven't updated A Scandal in Biology in ages, but you know how sometimes you just have to run with an idea while it's fresh? Anyways, hope you guys enjoy, and constructive criticism is always welcome!


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